


A Mess

by partofforever (edvic)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Medical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, M/M, Minor Character Death, Tom Is A Sweetheart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 02:48:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6935800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edvic/pseuds/partofforever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter, a rising psychologist, is trying to get his life back together after a personal tragedy. Will the new surgeon, Tom Riddle, help him clean his mess?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mess

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place in a hospital, precisely on a ward for children with neuroblastoma. If the theme of death is something you'd rather not read about ( which I absolutely understand), please retreat. It'll be a rather lighthearted story, but death will be a significant part of it.

“Thank you for your donation, sir.”

Harry looked up and saw a man not much older than he was – a young doctor in blue hospital clothes, probably underslept as everyone in here, judging by the weary look in his eyes. But the smile on his face was cheerful and real, something Harry hasn't seen in such a long time.

“No need to call me sir,” he said, standing by the donation table.

The official part of the benefit has ended already and most of the guests went to another place for a drink and some fun, despite the fact the whole auction was held in the name of the neoblastoma patients of St. Mungo's Hospital. Harry was lingering behind, trying to loose his best friends, Ron Weasley and his newlywed wife, Hermione Granger-Weasley, both extremely interested in match-making as Harry broke up with Ron's sister just a month ago. To be exact, Harry had to admit it was Ginny who broke up with him. He wasn't even angry with her – it was visible for some time that they weren't meant for each other; there were things they couldn't agree on and in the last months they were arguing over the smallest things. Even their usual quarrels over favourite TV shows started to get unrealistically serious, because Ginny was on Team Deanerys and Harry was - of course - a huge fan of House Stark. To be honest Harry was sure Ginny was meeting with another guy and he couldn't blame her; he was the worst boyfriend anyone could imagine during the last few months. He was only grateful they didn't make the brake-up a dramatic one - Harry supposed Mr Weasley wouldn't let him visit Burrow – as everyone jokingly called the old countryside house the Weasley were living in for generations – if he did any harm to his only daughter. And Mrs Weasley... She would rip him apart.

Harry had to admit being single felt refreshing for some time. He started dating Ginny in high school and even though they parted after choosing different universities, it felt as if they were family, because there was always a Weasley by his side – Ron as his roomate, his older brothers Fred and George attending the same course (concerning history of humour – the twins were rising comedians), Mr Weasley, the chief of students' affairs department or Mrs Weasley, who was owning a successful bakery at the end of Oak Street; another one of Ron's siblings, Charlie, was a vet and treated Harry's pet owl Hedwig a few times and Percy, who was now working in the Ministry of Public Health, exchanged a few e-mails with him regarding the state of psychological help for tumor patients and their parents. The only one of the Weasleys Harry hadn't met in person yet was Bill, who left England years ago to persue a career as an archeologist. All in all it was impossible to feel lonely with all of his second family occuping his time so eagerly. He knew there was a reason to it – his mother died only a year ago and he was left all alone in this world; his only family, aunt Petunia, came to the funeral, but she felt distant as always, probably even more now that her sister died and they didn't make peace between each other. She didn't call after that brief meeting and Harry couldn't be angry about it; he felt much closer to the Weasleys than his own aunt.

It was a painful year. Cancer striked his peaceful life suddenly and from the most unexpected side, taking not only his mother, but also the carefully built peace of his mind. It took him years to cope with his father's death and he couldn't imagine how long it would take to get over his mother's leave. Sometimes Harry felt tempted to think he was cursed – there was no other reason for his life to be so tragic. When he was eleven years old, a madman shot his father for no apparent reason and only ten years later his loving mother was gone too, taken by a glioma. But unlike his father she died a slow and painful death, gradually losing her senses and grasp of reality.

And it all happened in this hospital, St. Mungo's. Harry was working in the same building as a therapist for terminally ill kids, but he never thought one day he'll be forced to use his knowledge to try to help his own mother, to help _himself_. Before he learnt what experiencing a tumor was like, he thought his sessions were indeed helpful. But now... he wasn't so sure any longer. It was obvious his mother tried to be brave to make it easier for him. She was smiling even when it was evident there is no medicine, no surgery that could cure her. For some time he believed it, though he knew the amount of painkillers nurses were giving her and he heard the talks doctors were having in the corridor, their whispers always so hushed when he was near. In the end he was the only one to sit at her bedside when she was no longer able to talk and pretend everything was all right. And when it was over... All the things he learned about helping famillies in grief were useless. He started to do everything family mebers did – blaming himslef for what happened even though he knew it's pointless, deafening the memories with a glass of whisky every now and then, getting his frustrations off on Ginny... It was only for the better that they broke up; no one could see his weakening state up close and it was easier to put on a mask for a few hours during his job.

His job... St. Mungo's Hospital was now like a haunted house for Harry. The ghost of his mother was looking at him from behind every corner and he recognized her in every patient he was working with.

But his job was a relief too. It was occuping enough to make him feel less than during the sleepless nights in his empty flat, where every shadow seemed to be a visualisation of his fears – a faceless monster lurking in the dark, waiting to take another person precious to him.

He had to be cursed, there was no other option. Of course he knew curses didn't exist; but his knowledge wasn't enough to make him stop thinking in such a delusional way. _When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth_ , as Sherlock Holmes would say. Harry hoped that his curse was more like the broken mirror and seven years of misfortune rather than some kind of voodoo stinging every now and then.

It seemed Ron and Hermione were already gone; he couldn't see them in the lightened hall, where only a few sponsors were stading now. Professor Dumbledore, the director of St. Mungo's, was chatting with a guest from abroad, the famous Grindenwald, expert in cardiac surgery. And a few steps from them their chief pharmacist, Severus Snape, was receiving gratulations for his latest innovative drug; it went through another series of clinal tests and pretty much everyone was sure it was only a matter of time for Snape to get a Noble prize. Well, it wasn't that Harry had anything against it – he just didn't like Snape. Mutually, as it seemed.

He looked at his phone. No missed calls. His friends were probably sensitive enough not to make him come to the party with them in the end. Or at least Hemrione was; Harry felt it was a pity she didn't take a specialization in psychology as he did and went for pediatrics instead.

He was about to take his leave when a person he wanted to see the least appeared right in front of him: Horace Slughorn, a retired anesthesiologist, dressed in his best tweed suit, was already shaking his hand eagerly. Lily Potter was one of his favourite students and Slughorn was known for collecting promising girls and boys from his classes, staying in contact with them and using those connections later for his own purposes. After Harry became the youngest grant holder of Gryffindor's Fund in history, Slughorn was even more interested in him.

“My boy!,” he shook his hand once more, as if they were good friends, and patted his on the shoulder fatherly. “My boy, you've missed another one of my dinners! What excuse are you going to use this time?”

Harry was silent for a moment, trying to figure out something, but his silence was just a little bit too long.

“I knew it!,” Slughorn let go of his hand finally. “You chose to go to that pompous McGonagall's lecture instead, am I right?”

Harry wanted to say that there were many words one could describe Minerva McGonagall with, but _pompous_ wasn't probably one of them, but Horace Slughorn didn't let him speak his mind:

“Harry, I'll be eternally hurt if you refuse my invitation once more.” The older man looked at him reproachfully. “May it be McGonagall or even St. Mungo himself coming back from the dead to give a lecture, I won't take no for an answer this time, do we understand each other?”

“Of course, professor,” Harry answered trying to smile. He'll have to make an excuse much better than a lecture to make his way out of this one.

“And of course you've met Tom already, haven't you?” Slughorn asked lightheartedly, back to his usual self already. Seeing the confusion on Harry's face, he made one of his own, theatrically rising his hands and asking: “Where have you been for the last month, my boy? Were you living under a rock?”

 _Well, I was grieving in solitude in my apartment, trying not to lose my mind_ , Harry wanted to say, but of course the words didn't espcape his mouth. He was getting tired with Slughorn's talk.

“I was sure someone introduced you two!,” the man said now, looking somewhere behind Harry's back with an apologetic look in his eyes. “The two of my most promising students in the last ten years... What am I talking about, maybe even twenty! Harry, meet Tom Riddle, my dear student, the most promising neurosurgeon I've seen in my entire life!” It seemed the young doctor wanted to say something, but Slughorn had a few more words to add: “And Tom, I'm glad to introduce you to the most talented psychologist among my students, Harry Potter!” The man nearly broke Harry's arm in attempt to bring him closer to the table, so he could shake hands with Riddle. “Isn't it much better now that we all know each other? And such a marvelous coincidence to have you both at St. Mungo's! It could be only better if you were both excelling in the same field, right? It would be so exiting to see some friendly rivarly!”

Harry had the impression Slughorn meant something closer to a _life and death struggle_ than _friendly rivalry_ and Tom Riddle seemingly thought the same, because when their eyes met for a brief moment, Harry saw a glimpse of amusement.

Why haven't he met this man earlier? They were working not only in the same building, but also on the same ward. Was he really so lost in thoughts that he didn't see a new employee? And someone with a fame that was walking before him? He's read about this Riddle. Harry was the youngest to receive Gryffindor's grant, but Riddle was a sensation only a few years before him as the first one to receive Slytherin's grant even though its committee was famous for granting it only to the noble and well-known families. Of course at first it was more of a sensational news than a compliment for Riddle – people started speculating whether he was a bastard of someone from the Black or Malfoy families, but as time went on it became obvious there was a reason behind the prize. Riddle quickly became the most wanted student in the country, receiving invitations from hospitals in and out of England, working with best teams and perfoming surgeries no one alse dared to take on. And it seemed he was working on Harry's floor now.

 _I'm a mess_. The realisation stroke Harry suddenly. He had to do something about his attitude and all this _feelings_. Maybe Slughorn was right? Maybe he needed to go out and have some fun?

As if he was reading his thoughts, Horace spoke once more:

“I assume now that you know each other, you won't try to shirk from my next dinner, will you?,” this time he looked at Tom accusingly. “No more talking about new place and strange people, my boy.”

“Of course, professor,” Riddle replied with a pleasant smile, but Harry had been in such situations way to many times to believe it. The slightest tone of annoyance mixed with resignation sounded in Tom's voice.

“Next Sunday then,” Slughorn shook their hands once more and left, heading towards Severus Snape, who's face was becoming a perfect portrait of irritation with the older man's every step.

 

…

 

Next morning Harry backed into his office early carrying a stack of files in his arms and a piece of buttered toast in his teeth. He's made a decision. It was time to move on and even though he knew it wouldn't be anything near easy, he had to try at least. The last few months... he was a bundle of mess and didn't even realize his poor state. But yesterday, when he saw that Tom Riddle, his composed face and warm smile, he was able to see how pitiful his own state was.

Harry started with his flat. It wasn't easy to clean it as it seemed he was oblivious to the mess he made – piles of dishes, trash not thrown away for weeks (probably from the day Ginny left), Hedwig's cage full of mice's bones... Well, he could bet Riddle's flat was in perfect order. Probably Slughorn wouldn't be too happy to see what kind of rivarly the new surgeon had awoken in Harry, but he was nearly thankful for it. He needed a push and there it was, even though the form was rather unexpected.

“Hello, Lavender, new haircut?,” Harry winked at one of the nurses on his way around the ward. Lavender exchanged a shocked look with her friend Parvati, but he couldn't see it, already entering a room on his left.

“How are you today, Colin?,” he asked the boy in yellow pyjamas, trying not to avoid his clear blue eyes. Colin's tumor was highly dangerous, everyone, including the boy, knew it; his parents went from one hospital to another, looking for a doctor that would be able to cure their child and St. Mungo's was known as the last hope for many. The hospital was always a final stop for patients – either on their way back to health or an entirely different one.

“Fine,” Colin answered, smiling lighlty. But there was no mistake – the boy was getting worse with every passing day. Harry might have been a little bit absent minded, but he has noticed Colin's fading smile. When he first got there, he was the most talkative kid Harry has ever met; working with him was so easy, probably too easy – Harry's seen it before, when he was watching his dying mother. The initial optimism was always destined to fail, especially in a patient who after a long confident run was coming to a realization that there was no hope.

“Wanna show me the new photos?,” Harry asked encouragingly, looking at Colin's tablet. The boy loved to capture everything with his camera, from the view from his window down to other patients' families and St. Mungo's staff. There wasn't much he could photograph, but Colin never seemed to be bothered, as if the small world of this hospital was everything he ever knew. “I've heard you've got some pictures of Snape... I mean, Dr. Snape... in a rather doubtful coat.”

“He looked really funny!,” the boy exlaimed with excitement and Harry was thankful the bait worked once more. He wasn't sure how long will it take for Colin to loose his ability to walk and take photos. “And I have new pictures of professor Dumbledore and that new doctor... What was his name? Gri-Green...”

“Grindenwald,” Harry finished helpfully. “He's from Europe. Hungary, if I remember good.”

“Hungry? What kind of country is that?,” Colin asked with a surprised look on his face and Harry couldn't help himself and laughed. The boy joined him immediately, following the unwritten rule of children to laugh every time there was a chance to do so. “He didn't seem underfed,” Colin noticed, showing Harry a picture of Gellert Grindenwald and Albus Dumbledore in the hospital's cafeteria. “And there's a rumour Miss Pince and Mr. Filch are getting married! I've never been to a wedding, Harry, is it a nice thing?”

 _You'll see soon enough, you'll attend many weddings, Colin_ , Harry wanted to say, but there was a rule he tried to follow: never to lie to his patients. Even though it was hard and emotionally draining, it was the only right way. So instead of lying, he said something funny, a story from Hermione and Ron's wedding, something to make Colin laugh again.

“Hello, Colin,” an unknown voice reached Harry's ears.

He turned and saw Tom Riddle, this time in a white coat and with a transparent folder containing Colin's results.

“Oh, Mr. Potter-” he said with a tone of surprise in his voice, as if the psychologist cought him off guard somehow.

“Harry,” he corrected the surgeon.

“I forgot there's no need to call you sir, Harry” Tom said with a small smile forming on his lips. There was something strangely heartwarming about this smile and Harry thought for a brief moment that it would be nice to see more of it. But before he could focus on this new, unexpected thought, Colin grabed his camera and exclaimed with joy:

"Doctor, I don't have your photo yet! You promised me one, didn't you?," the boy was cleary victorious, probably one picture away from collecting the whole personel of St. Mungo's in his visual photo album. 

"I..." Tom Riddle hesitated for a brief moment. Harry wasn't sure why someone with Riddle's features would be skeptical about photos, but he had to do something to save the day.

"Maybe you could take a photo of us together, Colin?," Harry asked in the end, placing his hand on Tom's shoulder, as if saying _you've got my support, I'm here to help_. All his life he was using this gesture on parents, but trying it now felt different. Did he feel Riddle shiver slighlty under his touch or was it only his imagination? Maybe there was more about the new surgeon then he initially thought. 

 

...

 

“Can we talk for a moment?,” Tom Riddle asked unexpectedly, when they left Colin's room after something that could be called a full photoshoot. Harry nodded, surprised with this sudden request. “My office?,” Riddle opened a door right next to Harry's room.

The office looked much more tidy than the one Harry was currently occuping. Should it even surprise him? Even the rue in a white flowerpot seemed to grow calmly and in harmony with its owner.

“Tea?,” Riddle offered, showing Harry a collection of teabags. He chose the raspberry flavour, when Riddle went with plain white.

A few minutes passed in silence, as the surgeon prepered their hot drinks. Harry thought he should feel uncomfortable, but there was something so calm in this man he couldn't be bothered. And for the first time in months he felt... intrigued. Once again Slughorn's words about friendly rivarly crossed his mind and for the shortest moment he regreted chosing psychology rather than neurology.

“I have to say I'm glad you're back,” Tom Riddle said finally, sitting opposite Harry. His eyes were steel grey, Harry noticed incidentally. “It's been a lonely month trying to fit in with the only other novice acting like a sleepwalker.”

“Not the nicest way to start somehitng that could be a wonderful friendship,” Harry replied, imitating Slughorn's voice and trying to keep a straight face. Of course he failed miserably and ended choking on his tea instead.

“Horace would be disconsolate to see his two favourite student in ten... what am I saying – twenty years! - making fun of him so mercileslly,”

“His dinners are a merciless.”

“Should we go somewhere before it then?,” Riddle asked suddenly.

There was something new in his voice, but Harry wasn't sure what exactly – maybe some kind of anticipation? It was weird to answer such question; it felt nearly as a date invitation. But... would it be such an awful thing to go out with Tom Riddle? 

“Yes, I'd love to,” Harry replied, sipping his tea. His life somehow got even messier than it was in the morning.

 


End file.
